


A Forever Thing

by iwillpaintasongforlou



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Miscarriage, Mpreg, basically zarry get pregnant and harry miscarries, but they try again and get a beautiful baby!, happy ending guaranteed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-07
Updated: 2014-08-07
Packaged: 2018-02-12 03:35:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2094192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwillpaintasongforlou/pseuds/iwillpaintasongforlou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn and Harry knew pretty much from the moment they met that they were going to be a forever thing. Harry wants nothing more than to feel Zayn's child growing inside of him, and Zayn wants nothing more than to whisper to their unborn baby until his voice gives out every day forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Forever Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Just in case you missed the tag, **this fic does talk about a miscarriage.** Most of the focus is on how they stay strong through that and move on together, but if that could potentially be triggering to you, please stay safe!
> 
> THE PROMPT: _We need either mpreg or transman harry who is pregnant and has a miscarriage. im a very big zarry fan but I know you're all about larry so larry is fine too_

Harry knew from pretty much the moment that he met Zayn that this was going to be the man he married. It wasn't exactly love at first sight, but there is this undeniable chemistry that gave him the sensation that every other event in his life had been ingredients slowly stirred together waiting for one final touch that would cause the reaction that would make Harry's life bubble over.

As it turns out, Zayn was the final ingredient. They came together naturally, seemingly two peas in a pod from day one. It wasn't even like a typical love story where all of their friends knew before they did. They were aware, probably by the time Zayn dropped Harry off after their first date, that this was going to be a forever kind of thing. Maybe it was the way that Zayn could hardly make himself leave. Perhaps it was the fact that Harry didn't really want to let him. It just felt right, and that's all they knew.

It took less a year for them to be married. They were already in their mid twenties, and nobody really saw the point and dragging things out for years just because thats what everyone else did. They wanted to be married, and then they were. Zayn would have been happy with a small, private wedding, but Harry was having none of that. "I'm marrying the love of my life," he told Zayn firmly. "I'm going to celebrate that with everyone I know."

It also didn't take long for them to decide that the two of them was not the end of their family. Both had always wanted kids, despite the fact that male pregnancy was so risky. It just felt right. Harry kept having dreams about little green eyed, caramel skinned babies running around, and the Zayn kept dreaming about the way Harry's dimples always popped out when he was especially happy.

It was only three months later that Harry came waltzing into the living room with more pep in his step than usual, snuggled his way beneath Zayn’s arm on the couch, and looked up at his husband. “Hi Z.”

“Hey H,” replied Zayn, brushing a thumb across Harry’s dimple. “You’re cheerful. Got a reason?”

“I need a reason to be happy when cuddling with the love of my life?”

Zayn grinned down at him and could himself confirm that no, there really wasn’t a need for anything other than that. “‘Course not. You just look… extra peppy this morning.”

“Hmm. Interesting. It should be the opposite, actually,” Harry answered with that peculiar, pinched expression he always got when he was trying to look serious but falling far short. “I have a lot of stress to deal with this morning.”

“Yeah, baby? Why’s that?”

Harry looked up at him through those long lashes and can’t even pretend like he’s not a little teary. “I found out this morning that we’re in a bit of a time crunch. We haven’t picked out any baby names yet and we’ve only got 36 weeks to decide.”

“Shit,” Zayn said immediately, more out of shock than anything else. “Shit!” And then he leaned down and promptly snogged the breath out of the man carrying his baby.

They knew the risks going in. Male pregnancy was far more volatile than female, and only about 1 in 5 babies were successfully delivered. It was something about the hormones which made male biology have to work harder to nurture the growing child and still maintain status quo in the rest of the body. They knew that they would have to be careful with everything Harry did and ate and breathed in, because nothing but absolute health was good enough for their future child.

The doctors said later that it was nothing that they did, that the male womb was just a tough environment for a baby and it just couldn’t quite make it. 10 weeks of growing was all it could manage before its little heart gave out. Their baby was just part of the eighty percent.

Statistics didn’t make them feel any better though, as Harry and Zayn sat on the couch in the dark. Harry picked at the hospital bracelet but couldn’t get it off. He tugged and twisted until his actions got angry and his wrist got red and Zayn stilled Harry’s frantic hands with his own. He doesn’t say a word.

“It isn’t fair,” Harry says to break the silence. “We wanted a baby so badly. Why couldn’t we be in the twenty percent?”

“We can try again,” Zayn said lamely. He knows it’s the wrong thing to say, but he can’t think of anything else that’s even remotely comforting. There’s not really any comfort in a thing like this.

“But that’s not going to bring him back,” Harry sniffled. He turns to look at Zayn in the darkness. “I know it was a him. I just know. I could feel it.”

“I believe you.” Zayn reaches out and strokes Harry’s curls like he always has in the bad times.

Harry doesn’t seem all that reassured. “Our baby died,” he said numbly. “The baby I had inside of me. He wasn’t strong enough, and he died.”

Zayn doesn’t have a thing to say. He just tugs Harry into his lap and holds him as sniffles turn into sobs, turn into tearless gasps, turn back into sniffles. He just holds Harry and tries to communicate with his touch the way he can’t with his words that he loves him, and he’s there for him, that no matter what, they’ll get through.

It’s getting light out when Harry falls quiet and still again, and Zayn almost thinks the man is asleep against his chest for a moment. But then there’s a clearing of a groggy throat and a quiet, “I want to try again.”

“Of course,” Zayn replies at once. “We’ll keep trying. We want this baby so badly. We’re going to fight for him or her.”

“Not right away though. I need- time. I need some time.”

That Zayn can’t argue with, would never dream of arguing with. “You’re my number one priority,” he whispers into Harry’s curls. “We’ll take as much time as you need. Okay? I mean it.”

They wait another four months before trying again. This time when Harry comes to Zayn it’s with the pregnancy test in hand and a nervous expression. “I’m pregnant,” he says bluntly. “Five weeks along.”

“That’s fantastic, babe,” Zayn says softly, putting down the dish he was drying and taking Harry into his arms instead with a gentle kiss. Harry isn’t kissing him back though, so Zayn pulls his mouth away and rests his forehead on Harry’s without another word.

“I’m scared.”

“I know, baby. I know you are. But we can’t let fear get in the way of this being a really good thing, yeah?” Harry nods a little, slowly. “We’re gonna be okay. And so,” Zayn adds, leaning down to lift up Harry’s shirt and kiss his tummy, “is this little one.”

The next five weeks are the hardest. Every morning Harry stands topless in front of the mirror and stares at his stomach like he can see right through the skin and check up on the baby. He doesn’t stop staring until Zayn feels the warmth leak out of their bed and wakes up missing him, then comes up and plants two kisses on Harry’s worried little mouth. “Good morning, baby,” he says first. “Good morning, littler baby,” he adds.

It isn’t the only time that he talks to their baby, or sends kisses its way through the medium of Harry. Every time they’re laying in bed or on the couch, Zayn finds an excuse to have a conversation with the barely-there bump. He would give pep talks and talk about his day and talk about anything in the world until his voice got raw. He talked more than he ever had in his life, maybe more than Harry’s ever heard his voice in the nearly two years they’ve been together, and every night he goes to bed with a sore throat and a full heart.

Harry is positive from week 8 that it’s a boy. “He hears you,” he told Zayn insistently, tickling at his own tummy. “Your son likes it when you talk to him like that.”

“Our son,” Zayn corrects, right before he grabs a storybook off the stack he’s built up on the coffee table and reads _Little Red Riding Hood_ for the fifth time this week.

Week 10 comes and goes and with every passing week it gets easier. The bump gets bigger, so that Harry has something to beam at every time he passes the mirror. They start taking pregnancy photos where Zayn draws beautiful designs on Harry’s skin in natural paints to read out the week. “I helped make him,” he defends every time Harry giggles at the tickle of his fingertips drawing away. “People should be able to see a little bit of me in the photos as well.”

They have an ultrasound at 20 weeks, and the doctor proudly announces that everything is still fine and that it looks like they have a fighter coming their way. “She’s a strong little girl,” he tells the couple fondly. “You’re going to have your hands full with her when she’s older.”

“You were wrong this time,” Zayn points out to Harry with a grin so wide it could split his face. “You swore to me it was a boy! My hopes were all up for having a little one to kick the football around with.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Harry sniffs. “Haven’t you heard? Our daughter has a lot of spunk to her. She’ll kick the football around with you and probably kick your arse about it, too.”

She certainly is a strong kicker. When she starts to move it’s with vigor, somersaulting in Harry’s stomach so that he can lift his shirt and show Zayn how his stomach moves. “Here’s her head,” he says as he points to a ripple in the surface of his belly, “and there’s her hand. She’s got her arm up like this.”

He demonstrates the pose, much to Zayn’s amusement. “Oh yeah? Where’s her other arm?” he asks curiously.

Harry pulls a face. “Punching my bladder, I think. I’ll be right back.”

They make it to 35 weeks before Harry wakes up one night in a cold sweat. His arm shoots out and finds Zayn immediately, fingers digging in tight as his other hand gently caresses his swollen stomach. Zayn is sitting up at once. “Haz? What’s the matter, baby, everything okay?”

“Something doesn’t feel right,” he says tremulously. “I don’t know what, but- Zayn something feels off.”

Zayn doesn’t hesitate for a second. “Get your shoes.”

It was just a hormone spike, the doctor assured them, and everything was fine. “This happens sometimes, especially with males,” he explains. “Your body is starting to gear up for birth, producing all kinds of chemicals. Your body might just have a hard time regulating the production, is all.”

“But you’re _sure_ everything is fine with both of them?” Zayn asks for the seventh time.

“I’m positive. The baby is strong and so is her daddy. We’ll keep them both overnight to monitor everything, but you should be free to go in the morning.”

Everything is still fine in the morning and they’re sent home with orders to come back every week until the baby is born for checkups. Routine procedure for male pregnancy, they’re assured. “You can never be too careful,” the doctor says, and both fathers-to-be trip over themselves in their hurry to agree.

They’re back again the next week, the flecks of paint from ‘week 36’ graffiti still lingering on Harry’s skin. The doctor wipes them away as he preps for the ultrasound, and Zayn plays with the fingers of Harry’s hand where it’s clasped between his. He always loves the ultrasounds. Harry gets to carry their daughter. Zayn simply cherishes every opportunity to see her.

Measurements are taken, notations made, and finally the doctor frowns a tiny bit. “She hasn’t grown at all since last week,” he says softly. “And her heartbeat is lower than what I’d like. I’d like to keep you overnight again, if that’s alright. There’s not strictly speaking any cause for concern, but just to be on the safe side-”

“We’re staying,” they answer in unison.

Neither has an easy time sleeping that night. Harry’s in the hospital bed all weighed down with tubes and wires, and Zayn is in the chair by his side with his eyes glued to the monitor showing Harry’s and the baby’s stats. He can’t really do much, but he can watch the meaningless numbers flitting across the screen and will them to be whatever they’re supposed to be, as long as two people he loves most stay safe.

He’s dozed off when the beeping starts around four in the morning. His first thought is to fuss at Harry for playing with the alarm clock settings _again,_ but when he lifts his head Harry is looking at him with just as much sleepy confusion and it dawns on them together where they are. They turn as one to look at the monitor.

Luckily a nurse is there in an instant, because none of it makes any sense to them. “Your blood pressure is dropping fast,” she explains brusquely. “I’m going to go get the doctor. You hang tight,” she adds on her way out, like they were honestly going to go anywhere.

Harry looks to Zayn, wordless fear clouding his eyes, and Zayn takes his hand at once. “There’s no place safer for us to be,” he assures Harry quietly. “Look how attentive they are. They’re gonna take care of you, and they’re gonna take care of our daughter. Okay?”

The doctor takes one look at the readouts from the monitor and tells the fathers solemnly that the baby needs to be delivered right away. “I’m not taking any chances,” he tells them. “Your blood pressure could pick back up and everything could be fine, but if it stays this low-”

“Get her out of me,” Harry says firmly. “Let’s go. Take me to surgery. I’m not going to lose my daughter.”

The doctor might seem a little unnerved by the ferocity behind the expectant father’s words, but Zayn isn’t. He kisses Harry’s forehead, nods to the doctor, and then settles in to talk to his baby girl one last time before he officially meets her. “It’s gonna be okay,” he tells all three members of their little family. “I can’t wait to meet you,” he whispers just for her.

It’s hard for Harry to remember much about the C-section, even after the pain medication wears off and the fog clears. He remembers a lot of doctors and nurses, and a curtain separating him and Zayn from his stomach, and some strange but only vaguely uncomfortable sensations from his lower half as he was cut open and sewed back up. It doesn’t matter though, to anyone involved, whether they can remember that particular part. The important parts were what came next.

The important part was hearing their daughter cry for the first time, and having her laid on Harry’s chest looking messy and _tiny_ and beautiful as can be. The important part was Harry swiping a clean place on her forehead with one gentle thumb and kissing her softly as tears started leaking out of his eyes without him even noticing. The important part was Zayn cutting the umbilical cord and the two of them watching from across the room as nurses cleaned her up and swaddled her tight and returned her to Harry’s chest looking like an angel in her little pink blanket and hat.

“She feels like nothing,” Harry whispered in awe. “I think the blanket weighs more than she does.”

“Five pounds exactly, actually,” a nurse chimes in. “Not bad for a male pregnancy. _Incredible_ for being a month premature. We won’t even have to keep her in the NIC-U.”

“Knew she was a trooper,” Zayn said proudly, and Harry hums in agreement and offers him the little bundle of not only joy but also love and power and sweet relief. “Hi, baby girl. Pleased to meet you. I’m your daddy. Well, your other daddy. You know Daddy Harry already. I’m Daddy Zayn. We’ve talked a couple of times.”

Harry smiles fondly at the pair. “Are you going to tell us _your_ name, little baby?” he asked playfully. “We don’t know what it is yet.”

“Something strong,” Zayn answers at once. “After all she’s been through. She’s a fighter. Look at these fists of fury,” he coos, unearthing one little hand from the blanket and wrapping microscopic fingers around his thumb so he can move her fist like a prizefighter in the ring.

“Well I don’t guess we can name a girl Muhammed Ali,” Harry jokes. “Might be tacky.”

But Zayn cocks his head in thought. “What about Allie? Like a tribute, but all cute and girly like her.”

“Allie,” Harry repeats. It settles over him like a warm blanket. “I love it.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s perfect. Allie Styles-Malik.”

“No middle name?”

Harry grinned despite the exhaustion settling into his bones. “She’s got one of her own and each of ours. What’s she need a middle one for?”

“Allie Styles-Malik,” Zayn tries out, then nods. “That’s her. That’s our girl.”

“You know that people will probably tell her that she’s named after The Notebook, right? Since it’s your favorite movie and all.” Harry reaches out and lays his hand on Allie’s back, feeling the small rise and fall of her back and the larger of Zayn’s own. It feels like heaven, and his eyes drift shut just a little. “Sorry. Dunno why I’m so tired.”

“Well, you did just grow a tiny human being,” Zayn says softly. “And it was a damn good movie.”

“Hey. Not in front of the tiny human being.”

“Yes, dear,” Zayn whispers, but Harry’s already asleep. He just smiles and places his hand over Harry’s, cradling everything that’s dear to him right to his chest, where he can keep them safe. Forever. Always.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Not that my family will ever read my gay One Direction fanfiction, but I'd like to cosmically dedicate this to my sister and her husband, who knew they were a forever thing right from the start, and to the two babies they've lost, and to my beautiful nephew who fought like a champion 36 weeks before showing up to grace the world with his tiny charm. I love all five of you from the bottom of my heart. xoxo
> 
> canonlarry | tumblr


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